It's funny how a silly little moment—filling up a squirt toy in the bath—can yield images that feel calm and contemplative. It really wasn't like that at all.

I know it's not Thanksgiving yet. But if it's OK for the Hallmark Channel to start playing Christmas movies, then it's OK for me to post this. Harrumph.

Four years ago, Juliette and I walked to the end of our block to go vote, pushing our stroller and our three-month-old baby boy all the way. It started raining while we marked our ballots, and we were soaked by the time we got home—thankfully, the stroller had a canopy, so Jason stayed dry.

This time around we had two kids in tow and we had to walk a bit further, but the sun was shining. It turned out to be a pretty good day.

It didn't occur to me to wonder until just now about the fact that there are jack-o-lanterns in there with the Thanksgiving stickers. Huh.

I imagine that a normal person would be a bit perturbed to discover a Toy Story band-aid while making his bed, would be at least somewhat fazed by it. My reaction—living, as I do, with a four-year-old—was, "Huh."

For whatever reason, I can't seem to stop taking pictures of Jason while he's watching TV. I look at this picture and can't help but think how big his feet look, how old he looks. Put a little hair on his legs and he could be a teenager. Hell, he could be me.

Juliette and I took the kids trick-or-treating with some friends, which Jason had been excited about and looking forward to for weeks. The evening air was mild and the people were friendly. The kids couldn't restrain themselves from running ahead, trying to get to the next house and its candy as quickly as possible. It was sweet and fun, and full of nostalgia for me.

So, of course, I went and made a bunch of pictures with a completely different feeling.

I hope you all had a safe and happy Halloween!

I've taken so many pictures of Jason by this point that he's pretty much over it. He often closes his eyes or turns away, or makes a face. One of the few scenarios in which I can consistently get a truly candid shot of him anymore is while he's watching TV—he's just too engrossed to notice. Takes after the old man that way.

This one was taken back in June. He looks different now, but his TV-watching face is the same.

Several times over the past few weeks, Juliette and I have been woken up in the wee hours of the morning by a small, slightly scared, slightly whiny voice telling us that he had a bad dream. At four in the morning we're usually pretty out of it, and as long as he's willing to go back to sleep we usually don't care if he's in his room. Thus, the above has become a somewhat common sight on the floor of our bedroom. The first few times this happened I'm sure he was telling the truth, but once he started showing up with an armload of pillows and blankets and stuffed animals, I'm pretty sure it had become an excuse. On the other hand, he usually sleeps past 7 on our floor, so I can't complain too much.

Eva wants to know where the heck her daily photos have been all week. Don't worry, Eva, we'll be back on track soon enough.